


The Echoing of a Broken Heart

by AlyaRayne



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Sad Husband, Cecil Has A Third Eye, Cecil Palmer's Fashion Sense, Cecil is Mostly Human, Cecil is a Good Husband, Cecilos Fluff, Couch Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers for It Devours, There's A Tag For That, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 11:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20852987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyaRayne/pseuds/AlyaRayne
Summary: Beside Cecil sat Carlos, his eyes distant and red from the tears that had spilled freely earlier in the day. His head was down, forehead wrinkled, brows drawn, mouth in a frown that could have been cute in any other context. His hair, perfect as always in Cecil’s opinion, was a mess where he’d been running his hands through it, the grey at the temples sticking out almost comically. Again, if the situation had only been different…





	The Echoing of a Broken Heart

**Author's Note:**

> There is a single sad, lilting note from a violin echoing through the chambers of a broken heart. Can you hear it? Welcome to Night Vale.

Cecil tapped his fingers on the back of their couch, restless and wanting to hold his husband but knowing all too well that he wouldn’t like being touched just now. Carlos had a problem with being touched at the best of times, let alone when he’s just learned that he’s the one who’d been causing all of the problems with collapsing buildings in Night Vale.

On the other hand, Cecil had always been a very tactile person by nature. He loved to give hugs, and run his fingers through those he love's hair as he kissed their cheeks, or gives pats on the head or back or shoulder for jobs well done. He made up for this impulse by tapping his fingers on the back of the couch and twisting the fingers of his other hand in his fuchsia fluffy sweater. He’d dressed down after work out of his yellow plastic parka and snakeskin leggings into his favorite fuchsia sweater and long wrap-around green skirt.

Beside him sat Carlos, his eyes distant and red from the tears that had spilled freely earlier in the day. His head was down, forehead wrinkled, brows drawn, mouth in a frown that could have been cute in any other context. His hair, perfect as always in Cecil’s opinion, was a mess where he’d been running his hands through it, the grey at the temples sticking out almost comically. Again, if the situation had only been different…

It has been a rough day. Carlos had, being so focused on saving his family, almost destroyed their whole world, and it was eating away at him in a way that not even the mold placed in the wall of the station break room by the Faceless Old Woman could replicate. Quickly, greedily and without mercy, the guilt ate at him until, to Cecil, he seemed to almost be collapsing in on himself, so empty now that he could no longer support his own physicality.

They had sat like this, silent but for the air conditioner for quite a while. Cecil didn’t know precisely how long because time was _weird _here, but it was long enough that his leg was beginning to cramp. He shifted slightly and this movement seemed to startle Carlos, who looked up quickly.

“I-I” he stuttered, then cleared his throat. His normally beautiful oaky voice was cracked and sore. “Cece, I...” But again he trailed off, seemingly unsure of what he wanted to say.

“It’s ok, I know,” answered Cecil. And he did know. He knew that in that stutter was Carlo’s apology, another in a long line to plead for forgiveness that was already given. There was remorse and guilt and pain all wrapped up in those words stuck just at the back of his throat. “I know that you didn’t mean for any of it to happen and I forgive you,” He did not say, because he’d already said it to deaf ears that refused to hear it just yet.

“I just...” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t want any of you to...” He slumped further into the couch, face scrunching painfully with heartbreak. It made Cecil’s chest ache in sympathy.

“I know, Carlos,” Cecil said again, and though words were his life these felt so inadequate. Carlos let out a low, mirthless huff of laughter.

“How did everything get so screwed up?” he asked, scrubbing his hands over his face. Cecil didn’t know if he was starting to cry again, or if it was just reflex at this point.

“I could say something about birth being a direct cause of most known human screw-ups in history, with the others being clones or those of us who crawled from the soil, begat by no parents with only the unforgiving desert to nurture us, but I feel now may not be the time for that talk,” said Cecil, both trying to lighten the mood, and knowing that it wouldn’t work at the same time. Despite this, Carlos’ next smile did look just a touch more genuine.

“And you’re sure you didn’t see anything about my experiments causing this during your shows?” asked Carlos for what felt like the hundredth time, but was probably not even the tenth. Human perception was odd, after all.

Cecil tapped the black ink design of a stylized eye on his forehead that marked where his third eye was. It was closed now, as it always was when he was off work, but when active it allowed him to see most of the goings-on in Night Vale. All but those things the government actively blocked him from seeing at least. “I’m sure. I saw your experiments, and I saw the tremors and collapsed buildings, but I didn’t realize that it was your machine causing it. I am not a scientist, so none of what you were doing made much sense to me, even though you looked _amazing_ while doing it.” Cecil intoned _amazing_ more than he really needed to because he had a burning need to see that pained expression leave Carlos’ face. It worked about as well as a waterfront recreation area in a desert but at least he’d tried.

“And you thought that the City Council was causing the tremors and the sinkholes too, right?” asked Carlos, possibly actually for the hundredth time. Again, human perception was weird.

“Yes, I did. I can’t see into their building, not unless they let me, so I didn’t know what they were up to exactly, but it all made sense. It seemed like the kind of thing they would do to keep you from looking too closely into the desert other-world. Plus, this is hardly the first time the City Council collapsed buildings or caused unscheduled earthquake just to hide government secrets or keep scientists from running experiments.” answered Cecil, his hand inching towards Carlos’ face, wanting to brush against his cheek but he held back. When Carlos wanted physical comfort he would seek it.

“I know this is hard for you, Carlos. I can’t even imagine all of the things you must be feeling right now, though I do have a good idea being as I am also a human who’s made mistakes, but I think you need to let it go at least for tonight. Beating yourself up over this isn’t going to fix it, and you already did as much as you could to get all those people back.”

“So I should just forget about it then?” Carlos’ voice was hard, his eyes sharp when they met Cecil’s. “Just forget all the suffering I caused.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” said Cecil, trying to sound calm though his chest ached with the pain he saw in those beautiful eyes. “But I do think that you need rest, and maybe some food, and to remember that none of us blame you for doing what you thought was right.”

“But Janice...”

“Is fine, Carlos. She’s fine. She’s home with Abby and Steve right now safe and sound. Or, as safe and sound as any of us ever really are. And she wouldn’t want her Uncle Carlos to keep punishing himself over a mistake that he did his best to fix. In fact, she told me to make sure that you didn’t dwell too much on this because we all love you, and we don’t want to see you in pain. She made me promise to not let you torture yourself, so please Carlos for Janice and me and Abby and everyone in this town that loves you, stop hating yourself over your mistake. We all forgive you, but to truly fix this we need you to forgive yourself.”

At this Carlos sagged further down the couch, but this time it seemed more with exhaustion than with self-loathing. His head bent forward far enough that it rested against Cecil’s chest and Cecil couldn’t stop his arm from draping across Carlos’ back. He didn’t flinch, instead shifting closer, snuggling into the warmth that was his husband’s chest. He wrapped an arm around Cecil’s middle, and Cecil brought his other arm around to fully cradle his love. It was a warm embrace, if slightly awkward for the size of the couch and the position, and neither of them would have it any other way.

After a few minutes and some lost circulation, Carlos moved so that his head was now resting under Cecil’s chin, his chest moving rhythmically as he intertwined their fingers in intricate patterns. See Carlos didn’t like to be touched unless it was his idea. Then, when it was, he could hardly get enough.

Cecil ran his nails gently over Carlos’ ear, having discovered a moment ago that the sensation of his full finger was too heavy, but his nail was perfect. They slowly angled themselves so they were reclining against the couch, Cecil’s back to the arm with Carlos on his chest, and though the couch was a little too short for their legs, it was perfect.

“Cecil I...” Carlos trailed off, voice muffled by Cecil’s chest. Cecil kissed his head gently.

“Hmmm?”

“Nothing. I love you.” he murmured after a moment, and though Cecil knew that this wasn’t what Carlos was going to say, he let it slide. Sometimes curiosity wasn’t the best response.

“I love you too, Carlos,” he said instead, brushing his fingers down the firm but soft cartilage of the scientist’s ear. It would take time, he thought, for Carlos to fully heal from this, to truly forgive himself but luckily for them time was _weird, _and they had a lot of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This Welcome To Night Vale fanfiction was a production of too much caffeine and of finally finishing the It Devours novel. It was written by me, alone in my room and produced by the letter 42. Today’s weather was Winterfell by Ramin Djawadi on repeat. Today’s proverb: Quoth the raven, “Dis bitch empty! Yeet!”


End file.
